Who We Are
by myfoodisnotshared
Summary: When Malfoy needs saving, Harry is there. But a soul bond is deep, permanent and above all the closest tie two minds can have - and it changes everything. Entwined for life but still bitter enemies, will the Wizarding War tear them apart or open their blind eyes?
1. Chapter 1

"And for the third time in one evening my queen shall sweep across the board – queen to E5 – and take your second knight, leaving you open to Check, which will shortly become checkmate, because the only way you can defend your king is with your bishop, which will then be directly in my path," Ron said, his ears going slightly pink with glee. To be fair to him he'd had an excellent night, beating not just Harry and Hermione (which would have only made it a normal night) but Seamus and one of the twins too. Though completely lazy and tactless about the game, George and Fred were both surprisingly good – largely because they were so chaotic they won on sheer luck and the ability to confound the other player.

"You haven't won yet," Harry said stubbornly, picking through the pieces he still had left on the board. Ron was a surprisingly conservative player – unlike Harry, who just threw his pieces at the slightest slip of a chance at Check – Ron shuffled his around, lost few, protected his king, and somehow suddenly ended up with all his best pieces surrounding Harry's king. Skill, Ron called it, though Harry preferred to refer to it as planning ahead, which sounded much more boring and Hermione-like.

Harry moved his bishop, sitting back to watch it be dragged off by one of Ron's knights, then for his King to throw down his crown and for one of the spikes of the crown to be torn off. It would magically regrow later, but Ron got to keep the old spike in his chess box, which was rapidly filling with little bits of wood.

"I give up," Harry yawned, "I hate chess."

"No you don't, you just hate losing," Ron said, but he began packing all of the pieces away. It was getting precariously close to half-one, and Professor Sinistra was known for checking on the common room as she brought back her class from midnight astronomy. "If you stopped making the same mistakes again and again, I might stop beating you the same way again and again."

Though Ron was only meaning to give light-hearted advice, Harry's face soured. _The same mistakes_… that bit was certainly true. If only he could have learnt from chess that he was too foolish, too hot-headed, too short-sighted rather than to learn it from watching Sirius tip through the veil… but he couldn't think like that. Yes he was responsible for putting his friends, himself and by extension Sirius and the Order in danger. But not only could he not change his actions, he wasn't responsible for the true cause of Sirius' death, which was Voldermort and his Death Eaters.

"You alright there Harry?" Ron asked, and Harry blinked. He must be more tired than he thought, it wasn't like him to lose track of time, but there was something very… understanding about the expression on Ron's face. He'd grown up a lot over the summer, more than he was letting on. At the end of the day he'd lost a mentor too.

"Fine, Ron. You got the spike, yeah? C'mon let's get to bed. We have double defence again tomorrow," Harry said and he heaved himself out of his armchair – he could have sworn they got more and more comfortable as the night went on – but Ron just groaned and flopped back. "Oh sorry mate, forgot I was supposed to stop reminding you when we have Snape."

A grunt was the only reply Harry got, but Harry – a man himself, don't forget – understood it was Ron's way of saying 'I hate you but I forgive you and I'm too tired to think beyond that'. He smiled a little to himself, half tempted to leave Ron to sleep on the couch, but he had seen the twins prowling around with bulging pockets earlier. They weren't too happy that they were back at school, though they were allowed to sell through an order service and Slughorn gave them access to the dungeons several days a week, and they certainly weren't above playing pranks on their sleeping brother.

"C'mon mate, up we go. If Sinistra's on the prowl again…" That got Ron stumbling to his feet, having been caught up by the chaotically tempered witch a week or so ago. Sometimes she would frown and take away a few points, and other times she would write a damning note to Professor McGonagall that would have her steaming from the ears. It just wasn't worth the risk.

They had just got to the foot of the stairs when the portrait door was opened, a woman's figure framed in the doorway. "Crap," Harry whispered, plunging to the ground at the same time Ron did. Having many years' experience in hiding from bullies and evil wizards suddenly didn't seem quite enough and Harry was sure she could hear them breathing from a mile away.

The witch moved into the light, and Harry felt both himself and Ron freeze when McGonagall's unmistakable tartan cloak became visible. Though the fire was still crackling merrily she lit her wand with a silent lumos, checking behind a few chairs then stalking towards the stairs where the boys were hid.

"Shuffle, shuffle," Harry hissed and began to scramble backwards, but Ron – who was conveniently further from the stairs – grabbed him and held him still.

"Shhh," he whispered, sitting completely still. There was no time to hiss back that Ron was being a moron who was going to get them both detention for life, and instead Harry focused on trying to keep every single muscle locked in place. With a few long strides McGonagall reached their hiding place… and walked right past, her wand making eerie shadows on the corridor wall.

"Is she…?" Ron whispered, sounding incredibly surprised his tactic had worked.

"Yeah, she passed us… C'mon, edge backwards, let's hide behind the other sofa." Quickly they crawled to a shadowed area behind another circle of chairs, tucking their legs as close to its fabric back as they could. "Merlin, that was a close one."

Ron hummed his agreement, his blue eyes catching the light as he peered around one of the arm rests. Suddenly – entirely out of the blue – it occurred to Harry that there was actually quite a serious sort of good-looks to Ron, a leanness to his mind rather than to his body, which was actually quite attractive.

_No, Harry_. He squashed the thought immediately. He couldn't let his, well whatever it was he had for other boys get in the way of his friendship with Ron. He would never let a fleeting attraction to another man change the way Ron and all his other friends and roommates looked at him, even if one day he would have to tell them that as hard as he tried he couldn't look at girls the right way, in the right light or whatever it was, and he just didn't want them. He wanted other people instead, as he'd learned years ago when Cedric had told him to 'take a bath' and Merlin he'd been unable to get the image out of his head for weeks. It hadn't helped that within a few days he'd been diving into a lake with Cedric and when he'd surfaced it had been to see all of Cedric's admirers crowding round him, patting his bare skin, offering him towels or drying charms, calling him a winner… when he'd felt that kick of jealousy and desire, so sharp it was all he could feel and think about, he'd known he was experiencing exactly the kind of attraction his uncle had once warned him about.

"What you thinking about mate?" Ron asked, his eyes darting around into all the corners, before returning to Harry. "You've got a pretty weird expression on your face."

"Oh, just my uncle," Harry said, blushing in the dark at having admitting any train of thought that led to his memories of Cedric in the water. "A good memory, sort of, in a weird way," he said, desperate to say something, anything that would change the topic.

"Good?" Ron asked, snorting. "When has your uncle ever really done anything good?"

"Well it was years ago, back when I was twelve I think," Harry said, babbling, but he suddenly got this good feeling about telling Ron something, anything to do with the one secret he kept from his two best friends. "He just came into the kitchen one day and made me and Dudley sit at the kitchen table, and started explaining to us some stuff about, well, I can't even remember," Harry lied. He could remember almost every word. "But it was just the fact that he was there, you know? And treating me like I was his son and trying to bring me up right and advicing me… dunno why I thought of it then. It was just a good memory."

Ron almost laughed. "'Course you do. What could be better than being patronised by that old coot?" He shook his head, as though still slightly incredulous about some of the things he'd heard and seen about Vernon Dursley. "I remember when I got 'the talk' from my dad - most embarrassing moment of my life so far, followed closely by almost all of my brothers trying to do the same." Ron grinned at Harry, making a silent retching sign with his hand. "Even Percy had a go, though he just said that I shouldn't let anything distract me from my studies, especially 'that which is inappropriate and against school rules.'"

Harry laughed, muffling the sound with his fist. "Oh, Merlin, that's one conversation I never want to have with your brothers. What did the twins say?"

Now it was Ron's turn to blush scarlet, which he did in a spectacular, tomato red way. "Um, perhaps it's best if we don't discuss that here or, you know, ever."

There was a flurry of sound on the stairwell and both boys immediatly quietened, Harry pressing his lips closed, desperate to not laugh or murmur or make any sound that would give them away. With an ungraceful clatter Professor McGonagall came hurrying down, but there was something wrong, something slightly pinched about her face, too fast in her stride.

"Shit," Harry whispered, and then he sprang to his feet. "Professor!"

She whipped around, her wand pointing at him from nowhere, his own hands flying upwards in a 'don't curse me' gesture. For a second she seemed relieved, but that immediately turned to anger.

"There you are! Out of your beds at this hour, I don't know what you're thinking. Get up Mr Weasley, get up!" Ron scrambled to his feet, giving Harry a classic 'what the hell?' look before turned back to their head of house. "Well? How dare you hide behind cushions like children, get away from there now. And follow me, no arguments."

She turned on her heel sharply, striding towards the still open portrait hole. They hurried forwards, stepping over the ledge and almost tripping in their haste. "Harry," Ron hissed, "if she writes home I'm going to kill you."

Harry shook his head, indicating their Professor, who despite her age was fast outpacing them. Her back was ramrod straight, a few strands escaping from her normally perfectly neat bun, her flat shoes clacking on the wooden floor of the empty corridors. He couldn't get the image of her eyes, bulging slightly with tension out of his mind, then her slack jawed relief to see them. She hadn't went up the stairs to check on the dormitories, she'd been searching for them in particular… and now was definitely not leading them towards her office.

"Uh, Professor… where are we going?" _Please don't kill me, please don't kill me, please don't kill me…_

"To see Professor Dumbledore," she said, then she sighed a little, pausing at a door she was holding open. "No Mr Weasley not because you were out of bed, though we will certainly be discussing that later. The Headmaster has informed me that he must speak to Harry on a matter of urgency, that is all. It doesn't seem like good news and I thought therefore having some moral support may be useful. I am most unimpressed with you both for being out of your beds though, at this sort of hour and in the first of your NEWT years…"

"Then… is it-" Harry tried to say the words but he couldn't quite get them out. If it was to do with the Order, surely Ron and Hermione would have been summoned as well… but there was no time for reflection and Professor McGonagall swept onwards.

Though Harry wanted to ask if she knew anything, anything else, the words just seemed stuck in his throat. One glance at Ron showed that he felt the same, his skin a nasty white colour and his fingers screwed up into tight little fists. He hated this – he hated that every time something bad affected him Ron got caught up in it too, not just supporting as a friend normally would but dragged out in the middle of the night with him.

"Jelly-bellies," McGonagall said, and the gargoyle sprang aside. "We will wait just outside the door, Mr Weasley, and we can discuss your late night wanderings as well." They climbed the stairs till they reached a mostly bare corridor, with just one worn, familiar old door. McGonagall rapped on the wood that served as the entrance to the Headmaster's study with one hand, summoning a couple of rickety chairs with the other. With a carefully schooled expression she turned to Harry.

"Go on Harry," she said, using his given name in a rather… pitying tone. "We'll be just outside the door. And Harry, whatever the Headmaster has to say, you have your friends beside you. We will get through this war as a school and house, I will hear of no divisions among my students."

It was the longest speech she'd ever given him that wasn't a lecture or a command, and somehow that was far more frightening than being pulled from his common room in the early hours.

_No-one is going to hurt you,_ Harry thought to himself. He knew it was a lie, that bad news could hurt a hundred times more than a fist or a curse, but it was a nice lie anyhow.

With a quick, fake grin at Ron Harry pushed open the door and walked in, only to stop dead at the sight in front of him. His mouth opened, words bubbled to the surface, but before he could say anything the door was closed harshly behind him.

**A/N: Tra da! The first chapter - this has been a long, long time coming for me so I really hope you like it. If you review my fic, I'll review yours, always - so please do.**

**I want to recommend the OWLs Competition to well, everyone:D I can't work out how to link it in this (yep, I'm a complete technofailure) but it's on my profile... I am so, so hugely excited about being a part of it and I really want anyone else who feels like a challenge to join the Hogwarts gang! If you join, message me, 'cause it'll make me insanely happy:P**


	2. Chapter 2

"Potter?" Malfoy asked, his grey eyes going wide with shock. "What's he… you promised." The last part was directed at Professor Dumbledore, who despite the anger and betrayal in Malfoy's tone didn't so much as blink.

"Harry, would you come sit down please," Professor Dumbledore said with characteristic gentleness, gesturing towards the seat next to Malfoy. Slowly Harry's limbs remembered how to move and almost without direction from his mind they brought him to sit opposite the headmaster. Out of habit Harry angled himself away from Malfoy, and there was a scrape as Malfoy moved his chair physically away.

"Oh dear," Dumbledore said, "this isn't a good start. Draco, I'm afraid I'm terribly sorry that I seem to have– in fact I have broken your confidences."

"You're sorry," Malfoy said flatly. "How fantastic."

"Truly Draco I am," Dumbledore said, without a hint of sternness or anger. "If there was something else I could have done other than to invite Harry here I would have, I give you my word. And as far as possible, we will avoid spilling any secrets, from either side."

"Because you don't trust me," Malfoy said, one eyebrow arched. Harry blinked, trying to understand the scene before him - here was Malfoy, the cowardly Slytherin, contradicting Dumbledore as though he was just another student in the corridor. It made him feel slightly sick, to see someone insult the headmaster even after he'd proved that Voldermort was back, especially as Malfoy lived under the same roof as him.

"Trust…" Dumbledore sighed. "Draco I trust that you are not a Death Eater, that you wouldn't willingly volunteer information to Lord Voldermort and that you're a good person in a bad situation. But I can't tell you any more about the Order than I have already, because more knowledge will only put you in more danger. And just as I don't allow Harry here to know more than is strictly necessary, I can't give you the answers you seek - not when it could paint a target on your back."

Malfoy gave Harry a single, nasty look before turning back in his seat with a sour expression. There was something not quite right about it though, not like him - the word fragile crossed Harry's mind, though he couldn't see how that could be right. Not once in the five years he'd known Malfoy had he seen him look vulnerable, not even when he'd been tossed around as a ferret or forced to go into the Forbidden Forest, he was always too self assured.

"Harry, let us catch you up to speed," Dumbledore said when it was clear Draco had chosen not to speak. "You remember, of course you do, that Lucius Malfoy is a Death Eater?"

Harry only nodded, having seen Mr Malfoy in Death Eater garb more than once, having duelled with him more than once. "Well in recent months the Malfoy home has been 'taken over' so to speak by Lord Voldermort and his followers, with the permission of Mr Malfoy. And unfortunately Draco here has gotten far too mixed up in this." Dumbledore gave him a single, piercing look with his electric blue eyes, before continuing on.

"Now I'm only going to say this once, to both of you. I will have no squabbling or arguments about the parts you two have played in the past in this war. Whatever the outcome of all the very sad events we have to discuss tonight, I want you to go away and put the past behind you. Enough pettiness, this war as you both know will bring much suffering to us all and since Harry at least is committed to fighting, I won't have peers fighting peers, not in my school. Draco and I have discussed his situation at home-"

"I'm sorry, Professor, you _discussed _it?" Harry asked, interrupting before he'd even thought the words through. He couldn't help glancing at Malfoy, at the pale set of his lips and the angry turn of his head. He felt a sharp stab of pity for Draco, not that he believed he was a good guy but because he was having all his dirty laundry aired right in front of his worst enemy. "How can you – you can't seriously be saying that you know Dra-Malfoy is a Death Eater and you're just going to act like nothing's changed and forget it and…" He trailed off at the slight arch of Dumbledore's eyebrow.

"Harry, that's exactly what I'm going to do, because nothing has changed. Draco, as mature as he is, is not of age to commit his life and soul away. Which in an odd sort of way brings us round to why you're here Harry. Do either of you remember a few weeks ago in the Prophet, when it was announced I would be given power of guardian should I feel a student at Hogwarts was under the influence of Death Eater parents or guardians?"

"Yes, sir," Harry said at exactly the same time as Draco, though in very different tones. With Draco there was a touch of the scornful, the disgusted, but for Harry there was respect. Without Sirius or Arthur around, there was no-one else Harry would rather have as his guardian.

"Well, I'm afraid to say some parents took this rather badly. And one of these parents was your father, Draco." Though Dumbledore's face was kind, there was something very flinty and cool about the way he spoke of Lucius Malfoy. It was an odd thing to see - even when Mr Malfoy had gotten the governors to remove Dumbledore as headmaster he'd been pleasant, calm, but now there was something very fierce in his eyes. "This was a few days ago, just before the magical contract I have with all pupils was altered. Your father… I'm sorry there's no nice way to say this Draco. He tried to cast _animae ligant _upon your soul, your magical core, to bind it to Lord Voldermort's."

There was a very, very quiet moment. Then Draco made a choking sound half way between a laugh and a sob, his eyes glinting with something desperate, feral. "That's crazy – no. You mad old fool, how dare you suggest my father – that he – no!" Draco pushed out of his chair, standing, panting slightly. But Dumbledore's gaze never wavered.

"Draco, you went to Madame Pomfrey a few days ago with wooziness, you've been performing badly in all your lessons, you can't even focus your eyes on me right now. Look at me Draco, really look at me. Do I look the same as I did at the feast or do I seem different, altered?" For a second Draco looked at him, or at least seemed to, but then he strode away.

"I'm sorry Draco, I'm truly sorry. But you're sick! We both know you are sick." Rarely had Harry seen Dumbledore give anyone such a pleading look. His throat felt dry, his hands clammy, he couldn't understand why he was here. But now didn't seem the time to interrupt, not when bitter tears were leaking from the corners of Draco's eyes.

"My father… you're wrong. You have to be wrong Professor. He wouldn't…" Angrily Draco wiped away a tear, turning to glare at Harry. "What are you looking at? What are you even here for?"

"Soon Draco, I'll explain to you both soon. But I am not lying and I'm afraid it's nigh impossible I'm mistaken. I can show you, if you wish, how your core has altered." Draco's lips pinched, but he slowly walked over and sat down, his whole posture slightly revolted. "Here…" Dumbledore mouthed something and a light appeared between them, not quite a ball but around the same shape and glowing with tendrils of light in all directions. The light was more than just one colour, with many dark greens and a few blurry patches of blue and silver, but also lines of yellows and dots of reds. At first it seemed oddly perfect; the elegant beauty of it leaving Harry breathless, but then it started contorting as though struggling against invisible bonds. Blacks and a few golds – not part of the actual light – bounced off the sides as though clawing at it. There was no word to describe the ball of light other than trapped.

A few more tears leaked out of Draco's eyes as Dumbledore ended the spell, but he didn't slump, sitting rigidly in his seat. "My father…" he whispered, his head slowly beginning to shake, "I don't care what you say, this can't have been him."

Dumbledore said nothing, instead arching his fingers to his lips. They sat there for a few seconds in silence, so long Harry began to feel distinctly awkward, till Dumbledore sighed and lowered his hands. "Now I suppose, you will want know why you're here, Harry?"

"Sir," he said, then he found he had nothing else to say.

"Well, Harry you're here because I have something to ask of you that is… beyond anything I ever thought I'd ask for. And you're free to say no, because you are also just a young man with his whole life ahead of him. But I couldn't in good conscience tell Draco here nothing can be done for him when something can be." He paused then, looking over both boys with a very sad, serious expression, and for a moment Harry could believe the rumours that Dumbledore was an old soul in his seventh body, a wizard from the time of the Egyptians. "Since magic first began to be harnessed and given definitions, _aquamenti_ for water for example, the blood has been seen as the river through which our magic flows. _Avada kedavra _literally means to stop your blood moving, to stop magic and your heart in one go, because that's where magic defines the soul as being. Ah Harry, you see now."

Yes, he did. Because his blood flowed through Voldermort's veins, it was the host of his soul, it was entwined with Voldermort's. "They bound Draco's soul with Voldermort's blood… which is my blood."

Dumbledore smiled just a little, the smile of a professor whose student has understood a very unfortunate principle. "Yes, Harry, yours. Though it's Voldermort's soul, his 'self' that is trying to control Draco, the vessel through which the magic is bound is your blood. And that means you can override the bond between Lord Voldermort and Draco."

"But… how?" Draco asked, so quietly he almost couldn't be heard. "And what happens then? I mean do I lose my magic, does Potter _control_ me? I – I know Potter isn't dark like the Dark Lord but-"

"No, no Draco," Dumbledore said, "it won't be the same thing at all. There are two differences – firstly, Harry's soul is much stronger than Lord Voldermorts. The time for this discussion isn't now but whilst Voldermort can only make you increasingly ill and weak, Harry's soul will… overpower isn't the right word but that's essentially what will happen, your souls will join. But the nature of the bond will be changed because you'll both give consent, and that means instead of there being one soul tied to another, you'll balance, both tied to each other. That is, should Harry agree, as a bonding on this level is… a very big change."

_A very big change._ "What will happen to us… if we do this," Harry asked, instinctively knowing he wouldn't like the answer. Dumbledore sighed.

"I'm afraid I cannot say, bonds of this type have never occurred before, only slightly similar ones. It could be anything between a 'feel' of the other's presence throughout your lives to a very strong, permanent bond where all emotions and thoughts and magic are shared, as well as to an extend physical feelings such as hunger and pain. You won't become 'one person' exactly, but… the consequences could be very extreme."

Sharing thoughts. And feelings, and magic and – with Draco Malfoy. His worst enemy.

_He'll know you're one of those, that you like men. He'll tell everyone… _No, he couldn't think like that, he couldn't think 'worst case scenario' or he'd go mad with it. "And if we don't? What happens to Draco then?"

"I die," Draco said, before Dumbledore could. "That's what'll happen, isn't it? Either I get so sick I die or Voldermort gets control of me and since that's not a life, well I ruddy hope I'm fast enough with the poisoned mead."

Harry stared at him, gaping, then at Dumbledore – but the older wizard made no attempt to deny what had been said.

He couldn't die, Harry thought, looking at him from the corner of his eye. Draco still had tear tracks down his face, his pale hair still neatly in place – he was just a kid, just Harry's age, not even of age yet. How could he let someone his age, in his year at school die?

But it was permanent otherwise, for life. A bond with Draco for life…

"I- I need to think," Harry said, his hand reaching up to rub his scar.

"Take all the time you need," Dumbledore said, but one look at Draco showed that wasn't true. Draco had very little time left, and only Harry could change that.

**A/N: So another chapter is up! I have 5 more already written, so I should be able to upload fairly often.**

**Again, if you're looking for a good Hogwarts-style forum with lots of challenges, ****OWLs Competition** **is my recommendation. The link, should ye wish for it, is on my profile.**

**Happy reviewing guys! Remember, acts of kindness and honesty make Dumbledore's blue eyes twinkle with joy. (And my green ones too!)**


	3. Chapter 3

Forever, or at least the rest of his life, with Draco Malfoy.

Dumbledore had taken Malfoy out for a walk around one of the towers, which the prat didn't seem too happy about, but only because it meant spending time with the greatly respected and very pro-Muggleborn Headmaster. Though Harry admired Dumbledore a lot he was grateful for the space to think, he'd always felt like Dumbledore's blue-eyed gaze could pierce right through him. Blue-eyed gaze…

Ron, of course Ron was just outside the door. He couldn't think of anyone more able to help than his best friend - whilst he loved Hermione like a sister, she would consult a book and what he really needed now was honest advice from a mate.

Harry stood from his chair on slightly shaking feet - he still couldn't quite believe what he was contemplating - and walked to the door, pulling it open and peering into the corridor. He blinked against the darkness, letting his faulty eyes adjust to the mainly candle-less space.

McGonagall and Ron sat silently in their rickety chairs, both looking distinctly uncomfortable, but the relief on Ron's face to see Harry quickly melted away. "Mate, you look awful," he said bluntly, rising from his chair.

"Yeah, not my best night," Harry said, briefly considering asking Professor McGonagall's permission to release Ron, but she was already waving him away. "C'mon, come in."

Ron trailed after him, closing the door to Dumbledore's office securely behind him, then looking around in wonder. It was a funny sight, with all the silver instruments puffing smoke and clacking against each other, though over the years he'd just come to expect it of Dumbledore. Of course the headmaster was a little mad, and of course his office reflected that.

"So…" Ron began, giving Harry a thoughtful look, having finished gazing around at the circular room and collapsing into Harry's old chair. "What's the short version of the story?"

Harry sat down in the chair that had previously been Malfoy's, rubbing his scar as it ached a little. "The short version? I have to enter a soul-bond with Malfoy or he'll die. Quite horribly, I think as well."

Ron froze. Harry could literally see the blood flowing from his face, leaving him ghostly pale with wide, blinking eyes. "Um, Ron? Okay I know this is bad, but we've faced worse… Ron?"

"What did you – a _soul-bond_ Harry? No, you're not- you can't be..." Ron shook his head violently, as though trying to shake off the very thought of it. "There are stories about those Harry, about people who have gone mad when they go wrong, and people trapped into doing horrible crimes because they don't get any choice… how can you take that risk with Malfoy, eh, what if he turns you over to you-know-who?"

"He won't - it's him who got Malfoy into this whole bloody mess, I don't really think he's going back. And apparently we'll be all… conjoined, so I'd get a heck of a lot of warning before hand, and the chance to stop him."

Ron frowned - they'd been through a lot together, the two of them, but it was rare for Harry to see Ron quite so freaked out. "Conjoined? As in…" He gestured to his temple with a seriously unsettled look. "Harry, you're contemplating sharing your _thoughts_ with someone, for life, constantly connected - and with Malfoy. Do you really want that slimy git in your head every day for the rest of your life, there when you wake up in the morning, there when you go on a date, there when you marry a girl?"

_And there for the things I want to do with guys, there for every minute of it..._"It wouldn't be like that Ron, well it might but… what about when he dies, Ron? I can't just sit here and let him get sicker and sicker till we're burying him!" Suddenly Harry was imagining it, picturing it, that same emptiness to the Great Hall that had been there when Cedric died, the banners of black, the long silences in the corridors broken only by muffled weeping. And Malfoy though prejudiced and cruel and an attention seeking git was a fellow student who didn't deserve to be just another victim of Voldermort. Harry never got a chance to save Cedric or Sirius, or any of the countless people being killed in his name during this long and bloody war – but he could save Draco.

"Harry…" Ron sighed, still pale and weary looking. "I know you try to save everyone, I know you hate to think of people dying. So do I mate, I couldn't imagine it, I could never let you go without doing everything and anything. But you're my best friend, and this is _Malfoy _we're talking about. Don't look at me like that, I know he doesn't deserve to die… but does he really deserve this much of a sacrifice? I mean seriously, he's not a good person Harry, he's been trying to hurt us for years."

"That doesn't matter, it's in the past," Harry said, though the words sounded weird to hear and he couldn't help grimacing as he said them - he was writing off a lifetime of hate here, and he wasn't quite sure why he was burying the hatchet. "It's Voldermort and Lucius Malfoy who are killing him, they're the bad people, Malfoy is just… wrong place, wrong time I guess. Not his fault his whole family is dark."

Ron shook his head, as though Harry was missing the point - though to him it seemed it was Ron who couldn't grasp the problem here. He hated Malfoy and he knew that life with him would be difficult, but how could Harry not do everything in his power to help? "But sometimes you just have to let go, you know? People can and will die in this war, we can't - can't save them all. You know the prophecy, you're at the centre of this thing. Isn't it time to just… accept that some of us won't make it?"

"But - but what if it was you? Or Ginny or your dad or Sirius? We never hesitated to try to save them, we were desperate to, we risked everything." _We choose our friends and sacrifice the rest,_ he thought, though he couldn't say that. Though he hates to so much as think it, last year when he watched the pensieve memory of his father, it changed things for him. He had chosen to remember his father not as a bully but as a man who gave his life for his family and the Order - but by that logic, he couldn't just say Malfoy was a piece of crap, only someone not old enough to define themselves.

"Oh Merlin, you've got that look on your face – you're going to 'save' him aren't you?" Ron asked, but it was rhetorical. He leaned back on his chair, rocking it and holding his head in one hand. "When Hermione hears of this, she's going to kill you. And then Ginny's going to kill you, and then the twins are going to kill you, and heck I might even take a swing at you. What is it with you and trying to save everyone Harry?"

"What is it with people and needing me – just me, only me – to save them, Ron? I can't let him die, I couldn't ever look myself in the face again," Harry said, glancing towards the side door through which Malfoy had disappeared. He didn't like him anymore for having to save him, in fact he'd never hated him quite so much, but that didn't change anything. _Bloody Malfoy always needing someone to pull his head out of his own arse…_

"Right, right, the hero-complex," Ron muttered, but it was without heat. "Well, at least you'll never be lonely - you'll have a friend forever with Malfoy."

"Yes, I'll have his company day and night," Harry said, but it suddenly occurred to him what that would mean, not just for him but for Ron and Hermione. "Everything's going to be different, isn't it?" He asked at last.

"'Suppose so," Ron said, then he gave Harry a very piercing sort of look. "And I'm not happy about that, but I do- I do _see _Harry, though I would never, ever make the same choice. We'll cope, won't we, the way we always have? You get him to stop calling Hermione mudblood and me Weasel and we'll stop calling him ferret and we try to not strangle each other. You know, since you'll die if we kill him."

"What?" Harry asked, stunned. He hadn't thought of that.

"Well, that's what it says in all the old stories, that if one partner of the bond dies then the other does – it's not certain, it might just be a myth… okay, you're looking really sick now Harry. Are you sure you're okay?" Harry swallowed hard, trying to clear the lump that had just risen in his throat, cursing his luck that he had so many duties and burdens to shoulder.

"No Ron, not really. 'Neither can live while the other survives,' remember?" Harry whispered. "I can't leave Malfoy to die but… what if Voldermort finds out what we've done? We'll be twice the target because any attack on him will affect me!"

"Shit," Ron said, but at the same time there was a gentle cough from Professor Dumbledore, and both whirled round to see the Professor framed in the doorway. Ron's ears went fluorescent pink within a second. "Oh, sorry sir."

"Quite alright Ronald," Professor Dumbledore said, moving into the study and closing the door behind him. "I am sorry for intruding, Draco wanted some time alone to think. Now I hope you'll forgive an old man of eavesdropping, but I just thought – before we get carried away with ourselves – you should know that the danger of that is relatively low. Yes, Mr Malfoy will be a target, but the Order can protect him in ways we can't protect you Harry, should he chose not to fight. And if he does want to join the Order once of age, well… I'm sure Ronald here has heard the other stories about those who have soul-bonded."

Ron squirmed a little in his seat, looking slightly sheepish for not mentioning it. "Strength, power, enhanced magic - _successful _bonds and Harry there really aren't that many of them - they have been legendary. They don't end well though - take King Arthur and Queen Guinevere, they were supposedly soul-bonded but he wouldn't admit how much he needed her, so she slept with that other guy and then he tried to burn her at the stake but realised at the last minute how very wrong that would go for him, only for him to die in battle a while later and her to die at some other place. I mean Harry, how much worse can it get than that?"

It was a rhetorical question, but the answer came to Harry anyway. "He could have died alone. She could have died before she even entered the story and then he could have messed up without her help and died before he did any of the spectacular things he supposedly did. That would be worse - and okay, I'm not seriously trying to compare Malfoy to Gwenevere here, but the point stands. We don't have to think worst case scenario - who knows what could happen?"

Before either Ron or Dumbledore could reply - Ron with another argument and Dumbledore with a comment on unity or morality - the side door to the office opened and Malfoy strode in, his hair full of droplets of rain and his clothes slightly damp. If there had been a trace of friendliness on his face in that moment, it vanished as soon as he caught sight of Ron, and suddenly he was an arrogant bully again, sneering down his nose at them all.

"Oh look, the whole happy family is here. I suppose you've told him everything too?" Malfoy asked, ruffling his hair with one hand, letting water droplets fall onto Dumbledore's office floor.

"Yes," Ron said bluntly, rising out of his chair. He had that look in his eye again - the look of a boy who'd grown up. "Welcome to the family Malfoy, though personally I would have left you to rot." And without a backwards glance - though he did have a little trouble at the door - Ron walked right out.

Dumbledore sighed, crossing the room to properly close the door. "Well, it seems tonight's the night for theatrics," he said, returning to his chair, but with an almost undetectable creakiness and hesitance, the slight awkwardness age brought to great wizards unsure how out of their prime they were. "I assume you wish to go forwards with the soul-bond, Draco? There really is no other choice," he said, though not unkindly.

Malfoy glanced suspiciously across at Harry, looking him up and down, from his untied shoelaces to the scowl set on his mouth. "So you agreed?" He asked, his eyes finally coming to search Harry's face for signs of hesitance or disagreement. Harry only nodded, trying to force himself to look blank, but he'd always been an open book.

"Fine, let's do this," Malfoy said. He didn't look brave as he said it. Just messed up.

**A/N: This is a chapter I both love and hate. Mostly hate, but that's just the way of things sometimes!**

**Anyway, many thanks to my splendid reviewers, ****sevenphoenixtears****, ****CherrytreesButterfly****, and **** .Lines****, who are all fantastic writers in their own right. And if you get the time, sevenphoenixtears has a one-shot called '****Clothes**' **that I'm love with, and I don't get why the rest of the world isn't - so go check it out and review!**

**Reviews are like jelly, it doesn't matter if they're wobbly, they're great no matter what. So take a few seconds and leave a review please, and I'll do the same for you!**


	4. Chapter 4

Dumbledore seemed to pause a second, to see if anyone would make a nicer comment, but both boys were silent. WIth a sigh that spoke of many decades behind a teacher's desk, wrangling with the strengths and flaws and general stubbornness of teenage boys, Dumbledore pulled a plain, slightly hooked knife from one of his many drawers. Though the sight of it didn't exactly reassure Harry, it was Malfoy who turned a slightly green colour.

"Considering the ah, many unknowns of what effect this'll have, I'm going to go see if Madam Pomfrey is available," Dumbledore said, placing a small basin by the knife. "I trust you know how to disinfect a knife, correct?"

"Yes, sir," both Harry and Malfoy said, immediately exchanging bitter glares with each other. Old habits die hard, after all.

"Good, I will only be a moment. Oh, and help yourselves to lemon drops whilst I'm gone, if you want them," he said, before disappearing out the door with a swirl of purple robes.

There was an awkward pause, before Harry reached for the knife and bowl, which contained a little vial of black coloured oil. They had been treating and preparing knives in potions for years now, and every time Snape made them go through the same process, so it was second nature to Harry to lift it to the light to check it's purity.

"No, don't dilute it," Malfoy said, when Harry made to add water to it. He shifted awkwardly, as though he already regretted speaking to him. "The blade will be forged in fiendfyre, inlaid with magic - that's why it looks slightly shinier than usual. It has a higher tolerance for cleaning oil, so unless you want to get us both killed with some kind of infection…"

Normally Malfoy had a way of pulling off a 'you're so stupid' face with a remarkable amount of skill, but today it just didn't seem to be working for him. Instead he looked really rather ill, his pale hair falling all over his face, and deep bags under his eyes.

"Relax Malfoy," Harry said, turning away back to the bowl. "Professor Dumbledore said _my _blood was needed, no-one's going to come at you with the big scary knife." He waved it around a little for dramatic effect, and though Malfoy glared at him viciously, he couldn't quite hide the relief in his eyes.

Harry finished pouring the oil down the sides and washed it off, holding the blade to the light. Though he would never, ever say so, Draco had been right - the oil hadn't stuck at all, but neither had it left patches or corroded the surface. "So…" Harry said, but then he trailed off. He had been planning to ask why Malfoy was so sure his father hadn't been involved, but he somehow didn't think Malfoy would want to talk about it.

"Look, Potter," Malfoy said, "we both know we're not friends and we're never going to be friends. But I think we should agree to… to not be enemies. We'll make this unbearable for each other otherwise."

"Wow," Harry said, before he could stop himself, forehead wrinkling. "Um, okay, seems smart. Not enemies it is." They both nodded awkwardly, before a small smile came to the edges of Harry's lips.

"One last insult each?" He asked, as there was a slight clatter on the stairs - the sound of Dumbledore returning with Madame Pomfrey.

"You're a lazy, pigheaded fool with little intelligence and a remarkable lack of strategy," Malfoy said without any hesitation. Harry just shrugged, unhurt by the repeating of old, old insults.

"And you're a conceited arse who lives to be cruel and really can't play seeker," he said in reply, just as Dumbledore walked in the door, apparently having not heard a word of their conversation."Oh, Madame Pomfrey - are you alright with that bag?"

"Good evening Harry, or good night really," she said, cradling a large canvas bag in her arms. "It's fine, no worries - I just couldn't risk losing my focus and smashing all these vials. Ah, and hello there Draco - how are the headaches, hmm?"

Malfoy nodded, tight lipped. "Fine, miss."

"Liar. A half-completed soul bond, really it's a miracle you're still standing! Well Albus, I believe you were going to conjure some beds…"

With a wave of his wand, Dumbledore transfigured two of the chairs at the desk into a pair of twin beds, with lots of blankets and soft looking mattresses. "I told Madame Pomfrey here what we intend to do, and she's going to spend the rest of the night here with you. From what we've been able to learn about these bonds, I understand it's usual for you both to pass out."

"What, like faint?" Malfoy asked, the surprise evident in his voice. "It's just - I almost fainted a few days ago, in transfiguration…" Harry remembered it clearly - McGonagall had brought out a crate of large spiders and Ron had become a trembling mess in his seat, only for Pansy to start shaking Malfoy wildly and half shouting that his eyes weren't focussed. McGonagall had had to stop the class, and she'd rewarded them all with double homework for the 'hysterical' behaviour they'd shown. It hadn't been any of their best moments.

"Faint is one way to put it, though it's likely you'll sleep all night," Madam Pomfrey said, having put down her bag on a little side table. She carefully began removing a vast selection of potions, several of which Harry recognised from his many trips to the Hospital Wing. "Now this process is actually very unlikely to 'harm' either of you, in the sense that neither of you are at risk of death. What can't be predicted however is in what ways your souls will conjoin - we simply don't know enough about core magic to know which facets and types of soul join in which ways, though it is essentially a compatibility test of sorts."

It wasn't the best explanation to give to two teenage boys who hated each other and had never had so much as one nice conversation, but Madame Pomfrey didn't seem to notice. Calmly, she handed both boys a vial of transparent liquid, which Harry took gingerly, swallowing in one go. "Now sit on the beds, both of you. That was an immobiliser, to stop you thrashing around at all. I'm afraid we can't give you pain relieving potions till tomorrow, they could interfere with the whole process," she said, placing yet another two vials separate from the rest. "Here they are though - by tomorrow you'll be in no physical pain at all."

_How reassuring_, Harry thought privately, before suddenly noticing that whilst Madam Pomfrey had been fluttering around, Professor Dumbledore had been standing aside with his eyes closed, muttering over the cleaned knife.

"Thanks miss," Harry said, "um, do you know what Professor Dumbledore is doing over there?"

She glanced over, then shrugged slightly. "I can assume he is, for a lack of a better word, 'activating' the blade. You see Professor Dumbledore found out this morning about the unfortunate condition of Draco here, and myself and Professor McGonagall have been in discussion with him all day. There are very complicated preparations for magic such as this, though as you boys know, in the most complex magic the spells are internalised then cast at once upon an object."

"Taliesin's threshold," Malfoy said, cocking his head. "Our magical ability is set at birth, and we'll never be able to go beyond that. Hence the fact that some people pick up magic faster in their youth, have stronger accidental magic, learn faster… not that many wizards can internalise to a high degree, so heavily enchanted objects become very precious."

"Very good Draco," Madam Pomfrey said, "though not by any means a measure of talent. Magical ability is only one thing, hard work, good teachers and other abilities such as a smart brain are just as important. Take someone like Mad-Eye Moody, the real man, not the imposter - he's well known for having a relatively low amount of talent, but he was clever and good at his job and very, very brave, and he's remembered now he's left the aurors as the best there ever was."

"Aside from Quinton," Malfoy said, but though his voice was as sharp and challenging as ever, when he blinked, his eyelids moved very slowly, as though sticky. Suddenly Harry could feel it too, like his whole body was becoming heavy and seizing up, though it wasn't painful. With difficulty he wrenched his legs onto the bed and lay back against the cushions, wishing he'd taken off his shoes.

"Quinton?" He asked, though his tongue was half dead, and the words came out slurred. Malfoy had managed to lay back too, and he had used magic to untie his laces and levitate off his shoes. Of course he should have thought of that, but now his arms were too heavy to reach across his chest and pull out his wand.

"Ex-auror," Malfoy managed to choke out. "Quit - became inventor - turned dark."

That explained why Harry had never heard about him, all wizards who joined the forces of Voldermort were promptly burned from the history books. He wanted to reply, to ask what he'd invented, but there was no way he could talk anymore. From the corner of his eye, Harry could see Dumbledore holding the knife to the light, only it seemed different now, less shiny, more glowing.

Professor Dumbledore walked over to them, the walk of a hesitant old man, his bones aching in their sockets. Quietly he conjured a chair and sat down between both boys, reaching for Harry's arm. "I'm sorry we've been too rushed to explain anything to you - it only occurs to me now how hectic this must feel. Blink if you're ready, Harry," he said and Harry blinked twice, clearly. He didn't like sitting around waiting for pain.

And it did hurt, it hurt like hell as Dumbledore cut horizontally along one vein. It seemed infinitely stupid to Harry for Dumbledore to choose his wrist, till he saw how much blood ran down the knife and into a vial held at the other end. It wasn't normal blood either - though it flowed red from his arm, it turned a sharp golden colour as it ran along the side of the blade.

"Okay, that's enough," Dumbledore said and at once Madam Pomfrey ran her wand over the wound, and the bleeding slowed to a trickle, the pain ebbing. She poured a few drops of some strange liquid onto the edges and with a ticklish, itchy feeling his skin began to stitch itself back together. Harry was so absorbed in watching his skin move like a shallow wave over the flow of blood, he half jolted when Malfoy made a horrible strangled noise.

Though Malfoy was under the same potion as Harry and could barely move, the agony he was in could be read in every feature, in his sharp gasping breaths, in his watering eyes, in the slight curl of his lip that was all he could do to scream. He groaned again, an almost screechy sound of pure pain that hurt just to listen to. By his side, Dumbledore was chanting in a low, soft voice, though Harry was pretty sure he wasn't talking in English.

For a moment, Harry got another glimpse of Malfoy's consciousness, the orb of beautiful, mesmerising colours, with the writhing network of black and gold threads of light attacking it. Then he was blinded not by darkness but by pain, sharp, stabbing, excruciating pain in his scar. Pain that reached into every thought and consumed it, pain that ripped his whole head apart, pain that was everywhere and nowhere because there was no more concept of space or time…

_Just make it stop,_ he thought, his only thought. And then Harry blacked out completely.

**A/N: Wow, sorry for the delay guys! As you may have noticed, I've not been my usual obsessive fanfic self recently, and I haven't been online much. What's more, I'm about to set off camping for 6 days... So whilst I'll be sure to do lots of writing, it'll be a week before your next update, me thinks.**

**Merry reviewing to you all!**


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